Chapter 434

The faint morning light awakened the sleeping city.

Chen Dynasty, Bianjing.

This former capital, fifty years after the founding of the Chen Dynasty, had long shed the leaden pomp and scars of the Five Dynasties' chaos, radiating a steady yet vibrant vitality.

At Xishi, a street-facing eatery opened early.

In the cauldron on the stove, mutton bone soup boiled over a fierce fire stoked by a new-style blast furnace, its rich aroma wafting forth.

The server wiped the tables and chairs briskly, using a cotton cloth newly produced by the workshop, with stronger water absorption.

"Boss Wang, good morning! A bowl of spicy soup, extra chili!"

A laborer who had just finished unloading cargo walked in, his voice loud.

"All right! Zhang Wuge, you look in good spirits today; did you finish work early yesterday?"

The shopkeeper ladled soup while chatting with a smile.

"Thanks to Your Majesty's blessing,"

Zhang Wuge grinned, revealing teeth stained red by chili.

"The dock has installed something… a pulley hoist! Unloading cargo takes less effort, and I can make two extra trips, so I naturally earn more."

He took the steaming big bowl, then pointed to the golden fried cakes in the basket beside him.

"Give me two more cakes, made from the new wheat flour—fragrant!"

The shopkeeper smiled and agreed, handing over the cakes.

"Yes, I heard the Ministry of Agriculture came up with some new compost method, and with Minister Zhao's improved farming tools, harvests have been visibly better these years. This new wheat is cheap and hearty."

The diners bustled about, discussing wages, grain prices, newborns at home, or whatever novelties the workshop had produced.

The air was filled with the scent of fireworks and a down-to-earth, upward-looking vigor.

Not far off, the state-run workshop district was already buzzing with people.

The large waterwheel drove the connecting rods, emitting a rhythmic roar.

The artisans wore uniform coarse-work clothes, bustling about in the bright, ventilated factory.

Someone operated a machine tool improved under the inspiration of the "Ability Granting" concept, its parts' precision and efficiency far surpassing before;

Someone was assembling a new batch of improved plows destined for the Border Garrison Army.

Occasionally, technical officials in official uniforms moved among them, discussing a detail on the drawings with the artisans, the atmosphere lively yet pragmatic.

On the street, one could even see a few people in clerk uniforms explaining to onlookers how to use the newly promoted, simplified water-purification device improved upon the Fortune Momentum principle.

Children chased and played at the alley entrance, holding small toys made by folk artisans from scraps, featuring simple gear transmission.

The whole city functioned like a well-oiled precision machine, its parts working together efficiently and full of hope.

Under nearly the same sky, separated by that invisible light curtain, another Bianjing city also awoke.

False Song, Bianjing.

Here the clamor seemed more intense, more blatant, yet also more… restless.

On either side of Imperial Street, shops stood in rows, banners fluttering.

The cries of vendors, the sounds of strings and bamboo, and the rumble of carriages rolling over the Imperial Way at the heart of Imperial Street wove together into a glorious chapter of a prosperous age.

Beneath a grand tavern, ornate carriages were parked in abundance.

Dressed in fine attire, scholars and merchants entered the hall under the attendants' eager greetings; soon, the private rooms echoed with drinking-game chants and poetic recitations.

"Guest, please come inside! We have fresh river-prefecture fish just arrived, and grape wine from the Western Regions!"

The server's call carried great penetrating power.

Before a silk shop, the proprietor sprayed saliva as he pitched the newest Hangzhou brocade pattern to an official's family member.

"Madam, look at this hue, this weave—you won't find a second like it in all of Bianjing! Wear it to a banquet, and you'll surely outshine all flowers!"

That lady, moved by the words, stroked the smooth silk with her fingers, her eyes showing satisfaction.

However, after turning a few streets, the scene was utterly different.

In a backstreet alley, several gaunt beggars huddled in the corner, holding out broken bowls to beg from passersby.

An old woman squatted beneath the low eaves of her own house, laboriously pounding husked rice with a stone mortar; each stroke looked heavy and slow.

Not far away, the clanging of hammer on anvil came from a blacksmith's shop, the forge light illuminating the sweat‑streaked, worried faces of the craftsmen.

What they forged were still the old‑style farm tools that had been in use for who knows how many years, their efficiency low.

"Ah, grain prices have risen again, salt is expensive, this life…"

The old woman halted her work, pounded her aching waist, and muttered under her breath.

At the lane's entrance, two constables in dark‑blue uniforms sauntered past, their gazes sweeping the street, bearing the habitual arrogance and indifference of those accustomed to power.

They were responsible for collecting various miscellaneous taxes on this street, their methods often unsavory.

When the townsfolk saw them, most kept their distance, or walked by warily.

In the marketplaces, rumors circulated about court factional struggles, border situations, and which minister had again won imperial favor—mixing truth and falsehood.

People loved to discuss these topics, as if doing so could let them temporarily forget the heaviness of life.

But deeper down, issues such as the worsening land annexation, strained local finances, and the exploitation by lower‑level constables flowed like an undercurrent, silently surging beneath the prosperous façade.

This city brimmed with literary elegance and commercial vigor, yet also inherited numerous chronic ailments left by the previous dynasty.

Old and new contradictions, beneath an apparently unified surface, secretly sprouted and fermented.

Chen Dynasty, a private villa.

Zhang Cheng presented to Chen Wen a report compiled by the Jing'an Office comparing recent livelihood details of the two Bianjing cities.

"Your Majesty,"

Zhang Cheng's tone hinted at feeling.

"Although I long knew that our dynasty and the False Song followed different paths, seeing this detailed report, the differences are now strikingly obvious."

Chen Wen was flipping through the report, which recorded comparisons covering everything from commodity prices and wages to market talk, technical application, and official-civilian relations.

His gaze was calm.

「The False Song is not lacking in capable ministers and diligent officials, 」

Chen Wen lowered the report and spoke slowly.

「Its cultural flourishing and commercial prosperity are no empty words. 」

「Yet the foundation of its state remains trapped in the old patterns of the previous dynasty. 」

「Power struggles and factional infighting sap strength; numerous reform measures often either die because they touch vested interests, or become mere formalities for lack of effective means. 」

「Its technological development relies mostly on the inspiration of individual artisans, unable to form, as our dynasty has, a top‑down, Ministry of Works‑led, systematic push and popularization. 」

「More crucially, 」

Chen Wen rose, walked to the window, and gazed at the clear sky over Bianjing of the Chen dynasty.

「Its 'Fortune Momentum' is stagnant, its interior clogged. Although it bears the halo of 'civil governance,' it cannot conceal the myriad hardships of the people's livelihood. What the Iron Crow Army upholds is precisely such a 'prosperous age script' that looks bright outside but hides deep troubles within. 」

Wang Ru also walked in at this moment and said via the interface:

「According to observations from the 'South Wind Chronicle,' resistance to the northern army (i. e., the False Song itself) among the populace is especially strong in the south, and many harbor doubts about its proclaimed 'benevolent governance.' Yet, forced by circumstances, they temporarily endure. 」

「And the seeds we have sown, whether agricultural tools, river‑transport concepts, or guidance toward Li Yuan, 」

Zhang Cheng added.

「They are all about exploiting its inherent internal problems and contradictions, injecting variables. Letting the self‑generated strength within its system strike at those entrenched maladies and barriers. 」

Chen Wen turned, his gaze sweeping over Zhang Cheng and Wang Ru.

「This is the meaning of 'undercurrents surging.'」

「We do not directly overthrow, but guide and catalyze. 」

「Let the False Song's own strength, within its system, open a path for us. 」

「Let the repressed vitality, the overlooked popular strength, gradually gather into a current. 」

「One day, 」

His voice was not loud, yet it carried a resolute strength.

「When this undercurrent grows strong enough to breach the dikes that uphold the script, that will be our time to reap. 」

「All we need to do now is maintain patience and continue this 'Twin Cities Chronicle.'」

「Let the Chen dynasty's abundance and vitality become a silent exemplar. 」

「Let the False Song's prosperity and hidden worries become ever clearer in comparison. 」

「At the same time, pour more 'sparks' into those waters that appear calm but actually conceal undercurrents. 」

Zhang Cheng and Wang Ru solemnly assented.

「The Twin Cities Chronicle is also a competition between two paths. 」

「One continually breaks the old and establishes the new, solidifying its foundation; 」

「The other strains to maintain appearances, with incessant internal drain. 」

「This silent comparison itself is a formidable power. 」